Catherine Nelson - Zoe Grey 02 - The Trouble with Theft (9 page)

“If your FTA is
associated with that address, I want to talk to her.”

“Yeah, sure, you can
have first run at her. As soon as I find her.”

“Are you having any
luck on that front?”

I shook my head. “No.
Her grandmother put up her house as collateral on the bond. I went to talk to
her tonight, but she wouldn’t help me. She said it wasn’t important to her that
she’s going to lose her house. I think she thinks she’s protecting Danielle.”

“From what?”

“No idea.” Yet.

“Does she have
somewhere else to go?”

I shrugged. “I don’t
know. I have to keep digging.” I looked at the files now covering my kitchen
table. “Since you brought your work, I assume you’re planning to stay here
tonight.”

“It’s better than
being at the station. Plus, I thought this way I might get to see you for a
while. It’ll be more than I’ve seen you all week.”

If he couldn’t work in
his office, he could have gone to his house. I believed him about wanting to
see me, but that wasn’t the whole story. He knew more than he was saying.

If I had to guess, it
was something he’d found while looking into the Conrad murder. If he thought my
FTA was connected, he could have been worried that I, by association, was also
connected. That meant he was worried about what kind of trouble I’d stirred up
today, running around town asking all sorts of questions about Danielle Dillon.
What did he know that I didn’t? And why was he keeping it from me? I always
found out; it was just a matter of time.

“You know you won’t
get much sleep if you stay here,” I said.

He reached over and
took my hand, squeezing it. “I know. But I don’t sleep real great at my house
either, because I worry about you being here alone, having nightmares.”

“They’re just dreams.
And I’m a grown-up. I’m supposed to be able to handle things alone.”

“Fair point. But I
care about you. It’s unsettling to know you’re suffering.”

“I don’t need a
rescuer, Ellma—I mean, Alex.”

“I’m not trying to be
one. I’m trying to be your boyfriend. This thing we’re doing, it’s a partnership.
That means we take things on together.”

I sighed. “I suppose I
don’t always make that very easy, do I?”

He grinned. “No, Zoe,
nothing much about you is easy. But, then, I don’t really go for easy.”

He pulled me onto his
lap and kissed me.

“And I don’t care if
you call me by my last name,” he whispered.

Ellmann and I were lying together in
the dark. I could tell by his slow breathing he was dozing, near sleep. I was
alternating between lying with my eyes closed, wishing myself to sleep, and
staring at the ceiling, thinking about the dozens of questions bouncing around
in my head. Ellmann rolled onto his side and pulled me closer, wrapping an arm
around my middle and laying his head on my good shoulder.

“What are you thinking
about?” he asked.

“I’m just wondering
what’s more important than losing your house.”

“You said the
grandmother was protecting Dillon.”

How would Danielle
Dillon benefit from Grandma Porter losing her house? How did losing the house
protect Danielle?

“That’s just a feeling,”
I said. “And it doesn’t really track.”

“Don’t doubt your
instincts. No one has instincts as good as yours.”

Much to his dismay,
most of the time.

“Thanks. But I might
be wrong this time.”

“I’m not that lucky.”
He yawned. “You know, the grandmother kinda reminds me of you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Her trying to protect
her granddaughter. It’s like you protecting your brother. You’d do anything for
him—and you
have
. Giving up your house for him seems minor, by
comparison.”

He was right. I’d
sacrificed my childhood to keep Zach safe from our abusive father. I’d suffered
horrendous injuries ensuring Zach was never on the receiving end of any of
those beatings. I’d given up a good career and six-figure income to keep Zach
on the straight and narrow. I sheltered him as much as possible from our
mother’s disease and the subsequent fallout brought on by her manic lifestyle.
Once, I’d killed for him. By contrast, losing my house was insignificant.

But I still didn’t see
how Grandma Porter could protect Danielle by losing her house. What was
Grandma’s motivation? And what was the end goal?

Maybe losing the house
was a byproduct. Grandma had been adamant not to help me. It was clear she
didn’t want Danielle found. Why not? Equally clear was that Danielle was hiding.
No way Amerson sent so many people after her to turn up nothing if she wasn’t.
Everyone’s assumption up to this point had been that she was hiding from us,
from the bond company, or maybe from jail.

Continuing to use my
brother as an example, what would motivate me to keep Zach hidden? What reason
would I have for wanting to keep him hidden so badly I’d give up my house?

When phrased like
this, the answer seemed obvious. If my brother’s safety were in jeopardy, I’d
give up everything to keep him safe. I knew this only because I’d already done
so. But Danielle Dillon’s safety was not in jeopardy because of any recovery
agent, the bond company, or jail. She was hiding from someone else.

Suddenly it was very
clear to me I had no idea what was really going on. I needed to know more about
Danielle Dillon.

I began to ease away
from Ellmann, and he shifted.

“What’s up?”

“I’m sorry,” I said,
“but I have to get up.”

He lifted his arm off
me, and I scooted out of bed.

“Where are you going?”

Not the controlling
type, he could only be asking for one reason. Whatever he thought he knew about
the Conrad murders and the serial killer responsible for them scared him. He’d
come over tonight to keep some kind of eye on me. He didn’t want me sneaking
out of the house while he was sleeping.

“Don’t worry,” I said,
pulling on sweats. “I’m not leaving. Get some sleep.”

He groaned and rolled
onto his stomach, his feet hanging off the end of the queen-size bed even
though he was now lying diagonally. I stopped beside the bed and leaned over
him, kissing his neck and shoulder. His back was exposed, and even in the dark,
I could see the scar on his left shoulder. During the same gunfight in which
I’d been shot in the leg, Ellmann had been shot there. Fortunately that bullet went
clean through. His injury—miraculously—had been minor. After four weeks of
light duty and rehab, he’d been released back to work, having recovered one
hundred percent.

“Please, don’t worry
about me so much,” I whispered and stood up.

“Could I talk you into
coming back to bed?” he asked.

“You’re half asleep,
and I’d be poor company. Something’s bothering me; I need to do some digging.”

“I’m willing to bet I
could provide adequate distraction.”

I was certain he could,
and it sounded inviting, but if I got distracted, I might lose my current train
of thought regarding Dillon. And time was running out.

“Get some sleep,” I
said again and left.

I went into the office
and switched on a lamp, then I pulled Dillon’s file out of my bag. I dropped it
to the desk and sat down. For the first time since receiving it, I read the
thing front to back. It didn’t really contain the details of Dillon’s life I
was looking for. And it only listed the charges against her; it didn’t give
details about the case.

I used my laptop to
log into Sideline’s database remotely, then I searched for Danielle Dillon’s
case file. I found it and began reading. In May of this year, Dillon had been
arrested for assault, battery, and property destruction. She’d gotten into a
physical altercation with a man named Jeremiah Vandreen outside his place of
business, First National Bank, on Harmony and Timberline. Vandreen reported
she’d been waiting for him when he left work and began attacking him when he
got to his car. After basically beating the snot out of him, she proceeded to
damage the car, an expensive Porsche. She’d done several thousand dollars’
worth of damage by the time the police got there. She’d attempted to flee on
foot but was apprehended within a few blocks.

She didn’t say a word
at any time upon being arrested. At twenty-eight, this arrest was her first as
an adult. The report made mention of several arrests as a minor, but those
records had been sealed when she turned eighteen. It would take a lot more
digging to discover what those arrests had been about. And I wasn’t sure it was
relevant.

I ran a quick credit
check on her, finding very little. There was a bank account, opened when she
was seventeen, and while the account was still open, no transactions had been
processed in several years. There was only one credit card to her name, but it
had a zero balance and no charges had been made for almost four years. She
didn’t own a home or a car, and she wasn’t listed on a lease anywhere, ever.
Something I know about people is this: everyone lives somewhere and everyone
spends money. The fact that I could find no traces of her doing either led me
to one conclusion: she wasn’t going by the name “Danielle Dillon” at present.
And if I had to guess, she hadn’t for quite some time.

I opened Google and
searched her name. Nothing of relevance came back, aside from a hit for the
Fort
Collins Coloradoan
. I opened the article and read it. It gave the account
of the arrest of Martha Porter, Danielle Dillon’s grandmother, after fatally
shooting a man named Wayne Dillon sixteen years before. There weren’t many details.
I searched the archives for the name Martha Porter and found additional
articles, which reported Porter had been acquitted at trial. Very few details
helped shed light on the circumstances of the murder or the reason for the
acquittal. Also, I was unclear on her exact connection to Wayne Dillon, because
the paper made no mention of their relationship.

Back in the Sideline
database, I searched both “Martha Porter” and “Wayne Dillon.” There were no
results for either. But that only meant Sideline had never handled any of their
bonds or investigations. It didn’t mean there was nothing to find.

I’d lost track of time
until Ellmann came into the office. A look at my watch told me I’d been working
for several hours.

Ellmann leaned over
the chair behind me, his hands on the armrests, and kissed my neck.

“How’s the digging
coming?” he asked between kisses.

“As usual, I only have
more questions now.”

“Is that something
still bothering you?”

“Yes.”

But I didn’t care quite
as much now. What he was doing to my neck caused little currents of excitement
to shoot through my body. And it was hard to think straight.

“That’s too bad,” he
said, standing up. “Guess I’ll leave you to it.”

I quickly stood and
threw my pen on the desk.

“It’s going to have to
wait.”

The next morning, I was fixing
myself a cup of coffee when Ellmann came downstairs. His hair was wet from the
shower, and he smelled delicious. He walked over and wrapped his arms around
me.

“Want to have
breakfast with me?” he asked as he trailed kisses down the side of my neck.

My thoughts were
momentarily hijacked, and it took a moment before I could get them back.

“Uh, I wish I could.
But Sam wants me to have another MRI. They were able to squeeze me in this
morning.”

“Perfect,” Ellmann
said, getting a travel mug from the cupboard and pouring himself some coffee.
“I’ll go with you. We can eat afterward.”

I leaned a hip against
the counter and looked up at him. “Not that I’m not interested, but don’t you
need to get to work?”

“There’s no rush.”

“What about the task
force? Are they just gonna wait for you?”

“Maybe I’m not on the
task force,” he said.

“Yeah, right.”

Ellmann is an asset
and they know it, even if they don’t always appreciate his antics. Unorthodoxy
and occasional rule bending were a small price to pay for consistent results.
And if this case was as big as it seemed to be, they needed all the results
they could get.

“If you piss off
whoever’s in charge …” I watched his face carefully from behind the mug as
he took a sip of steaming coffee. I saw something flash briefly in his eyes,
and I smiled. “You sly dog.
You’re
in charge.”

He was smiling as he
set his mug down. “Technically I’m just lead coordinator. The FBI is in
charge.”

“Congratulations. I’m
proud of you. And, it’s overdue.”

“The captain only
selected me because I caught the Caroline Marks case; no one else in the
department was working any related cases. And he was clear that if I fuck it up,
I’ll be back in uniform for a year.”

“Can he do that?”

“Not a year, no. But
long enough to make my life miserable.”

“What a sweet guy,
your captain.”

“Anyway, I gave out
assignments last night. With the FBI swarming, I’m in no hurry to get back.”

We got into Ellmann’s
navy blue Dodge Charger and motored over to the hospital on Lemay. It being
eight a.m. on a Saturday morning, the parking lots were largely deserted, and
the halls were tomb-like. Even some of the lights were off.

Ten minutes after
checking in, a pretty, sweet technologist came and fetched me from the lobby.
And just in time. A family of four children, all under the age of six, was
being inadequately supervised by an elderly woman in a wheelchair I assumed to
be Grandma. The receptionist had even switched the TV to cartoons, but that
only added to the noise.

Mackenzie, I
remembered, had done my first MRI. She’s five-five, and today she wore Rockies
scrubs. She has blue eyes and shoulder-length brown hair with blonde
highlights. She smiles easily, laughs freely, and radiates kindness. I like her
and think that, under different circumstances, we could be friends.

“Welcome back,” she
said with a grin when she arrived in the lobby. “Nice to see you, though I’m
sorry it’s here. Oh, are you okay? What happened there?” she asked, indicating
the bandage.

“I’m fine, thank you.
Just a couple scratches. Hey, how’s your son?” Better to change the subject
than have to elaborate.

“You remember that?” She
laughed. “Oh, that flu bug was awful. Poor little guy was sick as a dog for a
week. And my husband got it. They’re both fine now. Actually, my son just
started walking.”

“Wow. That’s
exciting.”

“Until he starts
running away.” She laughed. “How’s the shoulder?”

“Better,” I said.
“Thanks.”

She looked around me
when I stopped next to her. “Would you like to come with us?” she asked
Ellmann, who had remained seated.

Two of the children
streaked in front of him shrieking. He jumped up.

“That’d be great,” he
said.

Mackenzie glanced over
my paperwork as she led us down the hall.

“Has anything changed
since your last MRI?” she asked. “Have you had any surgeries or anything?”

“Nothing’s changed. No
surgeries.”

“Great. Well, you
probably remember, the machine is very loud. And it’s important to lie still,
because the machine is very sensitive to motion. We’ll set you up with some
music, and you’ll be done in about thirty minutes. Do you have any questions?”

“No. Thank you.”

She smiled then swiped
her name badge in front of a keypad on the wall. The door at the end of the
hall swung open, and we followed her in.

An office stood in
front of us, open on both sides with large windows overlooking the scan rooms
as well as the tiny lobby we’d entered. On either side, a large door opened to
a scan room, where the hulking machines were visible beyond. To the right, two
chairs were available for those waiting—all that the space could afford. On the
left were two dressing rooms.

One of the dressing
room doors opened and man stepped out. He had long white hair and a shaggy
white beard. His gut hung over his belt, and he looked a lot like a trucker,
whatever truckers look like. A tall blonde guy dressed in dark green scrubs
emerged from the office.

“All right,” the
blonde said. “Are you ready?”

“Think so,” the
trucker answered.

“Great. And everything’s
out of your pockets, right? You took off all your metal?”

The trucker patted his
rear and nodded. “Yeah.”

He walked toward the
blonde and followed him into the scan room. I could distantly hear the blonde
talking to him about his study.

“All right,” Mackenzie
said, pulling open the second dressing room door. “Come on in. You can put your
stuff down in here. Are you wearing anything metal? Doesn’t look like it.”

“No. I came prepared.”

She laughed. “Great.
Drop off your bag, and we’ll get started.”

She moved toward the
office then turned back to address Ellmann.

“Go ahead and have a
sea—”

Suddenly there was a
giant
crack
. It sounded a hell of a lot like a gunshot.

Several things
happened simultaneously.

I immediately pulled
the Sig Sauer 9mm out of my bag and hurried to the wall of the office. Ellmann
drew his weapon. Mackenzie gave a small cry of surprise and confusion. And
there was an audible grunt, as if from pain, from inside the scan room.

“Out! Get me out!” A
male voice. Slightly panicked.

Ellmann was moving
cautiously toward the scan room. I rounded the corner and grabbed Mackenzie,
shoving her behind me.

“How many people back
here?” Ellmann asked her.

I reached the office
door and swung my weapon left. The office was empty. Through the window, I
could see the other scan room was also empty. There wasn’t anyone else in the
area.

“Clear,” I reported.

“Copy. How many
people?”

Mackenzie tried to
answer, but it was just a croaking sound. I shot a glance at her over my
shoulder as I fell in beside Ellmann again. She was too stunned to speak.

“Everyone all right in
there?” Ellmann called as we moved toward the scan room where the trucker and
the blonde had gone. The shot had to have come from in there.

When we got nearer to
the doorway, the blonde suddenly caught sight of us out of the corner of his
eye. He swung around and threw his hands up.

“Whoa! What the hell?
You can’t bring those in here!”

The trucker was lying
on the table. His upper body had been in the machine, but the table was sliding
back out. Neither of them held a weapon, and neither of them appeared injured.

“Get him up,” Ellmann
said, his deep voice commanding.

“Okay, okay,” the
blonde said, his hands still up. “But you can’t bring those in here. The
magne—”

“Don’t worry,” Ellmann
said, tipping his head at the open door. “I can read your little sign here.”

A giant red sign
affixed to the door read
caution! the
magnet is always on!
It was kind of a no-brainer that magnets and guns
didn’t mix. Which meant the sound we’d heard was likely not a gunshot at all.

The table stopped, and
the trucker sat up. He jumped when he saw Ellmann and me in the open doorway
and threw his hands up.

“I didn’t know!” he
cried. “Don’t shoot! I didn’t know!”

“Both of you, walk out
here. Now.”

Both men complied.
(Ellmann had that effect.) A quick pat-down confirmed neither of them was
packing a gun. Ellmann and I both relaxed.

“What the hell was
that?” Ellmann asked, slipping into don’t-lie-to-me cop mode.

“I didn’t know!” the
trucker cried again. “How was I supposed to know?”

“Know what?” Ellmann
asked.

“He had something on
his belt,” the blonde said. “Something metal. When he got up to the magnet, it
pulled it in. It was something heavy; that’s why it was so loud.”

“I didn’t know! It was
a Leatherman. I carry it on my belt. How could I know that would happen?”

“Did you think this
was just decoration?” I snapped, smacking a hand against the sign. “Don’t you
know how magnets work? Or were you confused when he asked you about removing
your metal? What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“I did ask you to take
off your belt,” the blonde said.

“I didn’t think it
mattered,” the trucker said. “It’s just a belt.”

“What do you think
now?” I asked. “Think it matters?”

__________

“You guys cops?”

Mackenzie had found
her voice again.

“Yes,” I answered,
pointing at Ellmann.

“Close enough,”
Ellmann answered, pointing at me.

Mackenzie looked
between us, eyes still slightly wide. “Right.”

The trucker was moping
in a chair beside the door. The blonde had called another man from the x-ray
department, and the two were currently struggling to get the Leatherman free
from the machine. Because the magnet was three times stronger than the ones
used to pick up cars in junkyards, and because the Leatherman weighed infinitely
less than a car, there was doubt about their success and a lot of swearing.
Unfortunately, turning the magnet off wasn’t an option.

“Listen, I’m sorry I
grabbed you,” I said to Mackenzie. “I thought it was a gunshot, and you were
totally exposed.”

“It scared me,” she
said. “That sound. I didn’t know what it was. I just froze.”

“Scared me too.”

She glanced at the
trucker, but she just looked sorta sad for him. This was what made her such a
nice person. When I looked at the trucker, it was not pity in my eyes.

“You reacted so
quickly,” she went on. “Both of you. That also surprised me.”

“Reflexes,” Ellmann
said gently.

For him, that was
true. Mine was instinct. I’d been shot at too many times to wait around for
confirmation of a threat. And being so recently traumatized, my instincts were
that much sharper at the moment. It was slightly embarrassing, knowing now it
was a gross overreaction. But I’d take embarrassment over death any day. I
could recover from that. I was less likely to recover from death.

Mackenzie didn’t say
much else, but by the time the exam was over, she was smiling again. The
trucker was gone from the small lobby, and the door to the second scan room
closed, the sound of the machine audible beyond. Apparently the Leatherman had
been successfully removed, and the trucker was getting his MRI after all.

Ellmann and I grabbed
breakfast at Silver Grill Café and coffee from Dazbog on Cherry Street (my
favorite Dazbog store) before he dropped me off back at home. He’d been overly
curious about my plans for the day and asked me twice to promise to check in
with him frequently. Taking the path of least resistance, I promised.

After a shower and a
change of clothes, I set out again. But my morning didn’t get much better. Dix
was at the top of my to-do list. So far, he’d cost me my cell phone, my
favorite pair of jeans, a perfectly good pair of shoes, and embarrassment in
front of my archnemesis. All for a lousy five hundred bucks. It was time to put
an end to this thing with Dix.

I envisioned an easy
capture, preying on a hungover twenty-year-old college student on summer break
at ten o’clock in the morning. With any luck, he’d still be in bed. I hoped to
trap him in his bedroom. Of course, he did have a fondness for windows. Still,
I liked my chances.

What I found at Dix’s
house was a far cry from a post-drunken stupor of a morning. I wasn’t sure why
I continued trying to follow this plan. It hadn’t worked any better with Dix
than it had with Dennison yesterday morning.